


One Try

by LMT



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2019-10-29
Packaged: 2021-01-08 01:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21227813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LMT/pseuds/LMT
Summary: Arya’s standing over the Hound with a rock and he says he'll give her one try.  He says: “Go on, hit me.  Hit me hard.”  What if she did?Divergent for Season 3.





	One Try

_I’ll give you one try, girl. Kill me and you’re free. But if I live, I’ll break both your hands. _

_Go on – hit me. Hit me hard._

Sandor was in a foul mood. His head throbbed, and blood kept tickling its way down his face no matter how many times he wiped at it. All day long.

It was entirely his own fault; he had, literally, asked for it. _Go on, hit me, _he’d told her. _Hit me hard. _And she had – surprisingly hard, for a girl that size, but she apparently didn’t know much about braining a man. She’d struck him right at the hairline, which didn’t come anywhere close to killing, but only hurt some and bled a _lot_, all day, an irritating never-ending trickle down his face and into his collar.

Even more irritating than the wound the girl had given him, though, was the girl herself. She was piled onto his horse with him, hunched over, cradling her hands to her chest and hating him silently.

She wasn’t weeping at least, but she was still terrible company. He’d tried to talk to her a few times, but she only pulled away and curled up tighter. “The fuck do you want?” he said once. “I warned you.” He resented her resentment; he _hadn’t_ been that brutal with her – just snatched her little paws and squeezed. He hadn’t even made her clean up all the blood she’d drawn.

(And couldn’t, now. Perhaps he should have thought of demanding stitches _before _retaliating. Though she’d probably have tried to stab his eye out with the needle, so maybe it was well he’d forgotten.).

Finally they reached a decent-looking stream, a little before dark. He stopped, and lifted her off the horse. “Go soak your bloody fingers,” he ordered. “And watch me make camp – tomorrow you’re going to help with it.”

He kept half an eye on her as he worked. She was watching, all right, but it looked more like she was thinking up ways to murder him than ways to assist.

When he was done he had her come and sit by the fire – cold water was good for swelling, but now her lips were blue and she was shivering.

She sat staring at him through the flames. Hatefully.

“Got something to say?” he growled at last. _I hate you, _he expected, or _you hurt me, _or _you’re a beast. Dog._

But what she said was, scornful and defiant: “This one’s not broken, you know.”

That was because he didn’t have much experience in the measured beating of children, and he’d deliberately erred on the side of restraint.

And he was already beginning to regret it. “Want me to try again?”

She huddled protectively and angled away (as if she could stop him!), and gave a tiny, sullen, mutinous shake of the head.

He relaxed – she wasn’t _completely _intractable, at least. “Fair’s fair,” he agreed. “One try each.”

She didn’t answer – just kept glaring at him, like she meant to set him afire with hatred alone.

“Want a drink?” A peace offering. “I’ll open it for you.”

“I’m not thirsty.”

He sighed. “Fine. But tomorrow you drink anyway. Not having you faint on me.”

“Why?” she sneered. “Not as much fun to torture a girl who’s already passed out?”

“If I wanted _fun_ I’d take you to a whorehouse and trade you in for something pretty,” he answered immediately. “You should shut the fuck up and thank the gods I don’t.”

She didn’t seem to understand that he was serious. “I’d _rather _you traded me somewhere. Anywhere. I’d rather be _anywhere_ than here with you – you’re awful, and ugly. And you stink.”

Now she was annoying him. He put his elbows on his knees and leaned in. “One more word,” he said slowly, “And I’ll stuff your mouth with grass, and tie it closed with a _stinking_ sock from my _stinking_ boot.”

“You will not-”

She’d hardly even started speaking, and already he’d leaped up and pounced on her. This was a stubborn, stupid girl, who badly needed a lesson, so he threw one arm around her, crushing her to him, and bent over to yank up a fistful of weeds.

“No- no- _STOP IT_!” she shrieked as he forced her backwards over his lap. She flailed at him uselessly, arms and legs, and tossed her head side to side. “Let go of me let go _LET ME GO!_”

He leaned forward on her, pinning her under his armpit and yanking her head back by the hair. Not gently. “_Enough,_” he roared at her. It didn’t stop her; she only screamed louder.

Once he brought a handful of plants and dirt to her face, she snapped her hole shut so that the screams became squeaks. Not cowed though – she was still trying to thrash around and fight. Wasn’t getting anywhere; he was holding her too tightly for it now, but still. _Not much like the sister, this one._

“_Is this what you want?_” he demanded, still bellowing, spraying spit. “_You want to see awful?_” He shook her with force, banging her against his knees, and that at least brought some fear out. (As well it should; he could break her in half over his lap if he wanted.). “_Do you?_” He slammed her harder. And harder still. _“I said: do you!” _He shook her short and sharp, a warning, and lifted her to wait and see.

And finally she showed sense. Stopped fighting. “Mm-nn,” she said, from behind closed lips.

“Good!” He settled her back to his lap without slamming. Stopped shouting. Even relaxed his grip a little. Sat there breathing hard, her doing the same (through the nose!), until the rage faded. “Now. You going to test me every time I tell you to do something?”

She twitched her head _no_.

“Good.” But he didn’t believe her, was the problem, and anyway he was not ready to forgive her just yet. He tugged on her hair, and pitched his voice low and deadly. “Then open. Your fucking. Mouth.”

He saw her face collapse into wide-eyed dismay as she looked over at the muddy grass he was waving at her – worms and all – and she tried to shake her head even though he was surely pulling her hair hard enough to hurt.

“Mm-nn,” she squeaked again – only this time her voice cracked, like she was pleading. That moved him more than he’d expected, but she wasn’t done: next she looked him full in the face and said, steadily: “I’ll be quiet. Please don’t.” She closed her eyes and stopped pressing her lips shut, let them fall open.

_Better. _He wasn’t in the mood to be thrown up on anyway, so, he dropped what he was holding and wiped his hand off. Took her by the jaw. “Look at me.”

She did. He finally let go of her hair.

“Let’s get things straight.”

She nodded.

“Fight me and you’ll be sorry. That clear?”

She didn’t like that – her brow knit – but she nodded again.

“Do as I tell you, and I won’t hurt you. Is _that _clear?”

Nod.

“I don’t care about pretty words; you can curse me all you like – _until I tell you to shut up_. Then you shut up. Clear?”

“Clear.”

“Good.” He tipped her up to her feet and let her back away from him. “Anything you want to say, before I tell you to shut up and go to sleep?”

She looked up at him from under her stringy, dirty hair. Bit her lip.

“What? Out with it.”

“I wish Lord Beric had cut your head off!” Defiant – and terrified; clearly she was half expecting him to become berserk again.

She was in for a surprise then: he just smirked at her and said, “Bet you do.” And then, even more generous: “Anything else?”

She was quiet a minute, chewing her lip and clearly wanting to say _something. _He wondered if she just didn’t have curse words enough for it. But finally she looked away, and muttered almost under her breath: “I’m thirsty.” 

* * *

**The End.**

**No plans to continue this one, bc it would become a massive epic. But let me know what you thought of it! (And, let me know if you know of any other fics for this premise. I'd be interested to read!)**


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